


Sam Wilson's Home for Wayward Superheroes

by whitchry9



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, sam is not your nanny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently opening his house to two superheroes in a time of need paved the way for everyone else to show up. <br/>And Sam wasn't going to make pancakes for them all. Nope. Definitely not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Wilson's Home for Wayward Superheroes

Sam had apparently set a very dangerous precedent with taking in Steve and Natasha and feeding them, because apparently that was a blanket permission for all the Avengers to show up at his house whenever they were remotely in the neighbourhood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clint Barton, or Hawkeye as he was known to the public, showed up first, and Sam was pretty thankful for that, because he was the least terrifying out of all of them.

 

There was a knock at his door in the late afternoon, and Sam opened it to find a bloodied man with light hair, numerous bandages, and a bow slung over his shoulder.

He rubbed his neck awkwardly.

“Um, hey. Natasha told me where you lived, and that you were a good guy and that if I ever got into any trouble that you'd be cool.”

Sam blinked at him. At that point he was still piecing together 'Natasha' with the bow (and her arrow necklace, there had to be something there) and the man standing in front of him.

 

Sam examined him again. He looked exhausted.

He shrugged. “Sure. Come on in. I hope you're not here for the promise of pancakes, because those are strictly a breakfast thing.”

Clint slipped past his arm holding the door open and into the entry way. He nodded. “Yeah, that's fine.”

“Do you need that to be looked at?” Sam asked, gesturing to Clint's blood stained clothes.

Clint glanced down at himself. “Oh. Yeah, probably.”

 

Sam sighed. “Okay, you sit down, I'll grab the first aid kit.”

 

It took a number of bandages, but eventually Clint was patched up. The story came out in fits and starts as Sam made tacos for dinner.

Apparently Clint had gotten mixed up with some gangsters, for what was not the first, nor would it be the last, time.

 

Clint thanked him for the food and the help before disappearing back into the city, his bow slung over his shoulder.

 

The clothes that Clint had apparently borrowed showed up a week later.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam was somewhat terrified to find an alien at his door so early in the morning, but Thor looked nothing but thrilled to see him.

“Hello Samuel, son of Wil. I am Thor of Asgard, and I have been told of you by my comrade and brother in arms, Steven.”

“Hey Thor,” Sam said, blinking up at the man? God? Whatever he was.

Thor brightened. “You know of me?”

“Oh yeah.”

It was kind of hard not to. Since the invasion, Thor had saved the world over again, and had done some very popular media campaigns. He probably hadn't intended to be such a hit, but people loved his honestly and warm nature.

He sure was easy to look at too.

“So... were you in the neighbourhood or something?”

Thor hesitated before speaking.

“In a way, yes. Mjolnir and I have become parted in our battle against creatures from the depths of your sea. She continued in one direction, while I fell in another. Thankfully, it was near to your residence, such as I may call upon you in my time of need.” He smiled.

Sam rubbed his eyes.

“Okay, maybe I'm not getting it cause it's early, but why don't you just... call your hammer back? You can do that right?”

Thor nodded. “I can sense her, but I do not wish to call her to me. Sometimes she is not wary of things in her path. The Hawk Eyed one has been victim to her strength more than once.” He looked ashamed of the memory. “I do not wish anyone else to befall the same fate. Mjolnir will be safe until I can go fetch her myself.”

“Right,” Sam said, because what else can you say to a giant mourning golden retriever? “Was there something I can help you with?”

“Yes,” Thor said, brightening up again. “I need to contact my teammates. They gave me a portable communication device, but I frequently lose it during my travels. Also, friend Stark has not been able to make one that withstands the full power of my lightning.”

“You wanna call your team members?” Sam clarified.

“If it would not be too much trouble.”

He was already out of bed, so really, it wouldn't be any more trouble to invite the guy in and let him use the phone.

“Come on in,” Sam told him, stifling a yawn.

 

Apparently Thor was quite adept at using a phone, so long as the buttons were big enough for his fingers. There wasn't even the risk of lightning, since his hammer wasn't with him.

He was picked up within the hour, and Sam was slightly relieved, because Thor looked to be growing restless, and that could only prove dangerous.

 

 

Sam received a cheery email the next day drawing a flight path between his house, and the place where the hammer had fallen to. It directly crossed a number of busy streets, and intersected countless buildings. Sam figured that was courtesy of one of the other team members, while the small thank you message and invitation to Asgard were both from Thor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

An unfamiliar noise jerked Sam out of sleep, and it took him a minute to realize why he was awake.

There was someone in his house.

 

He grabbed a flashlight and his gun from its hiding place before creeping downstairs to confront whoever it was. He hoped it was just someone looking to make some easy cash by robbing a house, and not some terrorist that had connected him to the whole incident with SHIELD.

 

“Seriously, remind me again why the hell I did this,” the voice muttered. Sam paused, because that was either one very confused robber, or someone was doing something else.

“I did warn you Sir,” a British voice replied.

Sam lowered his gun. What the hell was going on?

He raised his gun again and turned the corner. “What are you doing in my house,” he demanded.

The man squinted into the light, but immediately raised his hands.

“Whoa, gun. Um, yeah, sorry, but I was in the neighbourhood and needed to fix my suit, so I sort of... dropped in. Kind of literally. Sorry about your lawn.”

It took Sam a minute, because it was kind of the middle of the night, and so sue him for being a little slow, but the man in his living room was Tony fucking Stark. Tony Stark was in his living room, fixing one of his Iron Man suits.

How was this his life?

“What the hell man?” Sam growled, putting the gun down and flicking on the overhead lights. “You break into my house in the middle of the night and just start taking stuff to fix your suit. Did you even consider knocking on the door and oh, maybe asking?”

Stark looked away.

“Oh my god, it really didn't. Wow, one of the smartest men in the world and he doesn't even consider knocking. I honestly don't know how you've made it this far in life.”

Stark only shrugged, but at least had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, and Sam sighed.

“Do you need anything?”

Stark tilted his head. “Yeah,” he said after a moment of consideration. “Welding equipment and a set of screwdrivers. Also, coffee.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Check the garage, I don't know what's out there. Coffee I can do.”

Tony stomped out of the house, and Sam shrugged aside his curiosity about how he'd gotten in.

 

He started the coffee maker and wondered how this was his life.

 

Stark appeared a few moments later with an armful of equipment, and immediately took the mug Sam was drinking from.

“Coffee,” he said appreciatively, in the tone someone else might use to say thank you.

Sam rubbed his head again. “Yeah. Listen, I'll be right back, okay. Don't... burn my house down. Please.”

Stark made a slight nodding motion, which could have been a coincidence, but Sam figured it was good enough.

He hid his gun again, and wondered if he could just sleep and it would all go away.

The crash from the living room suggested that, no, it would not.

 

“It's fine,” Tony said immediately.

Sam frowned at him. The Iron Man suit had toppled over, or maybe he'd pushed it, but it was now lying flat on the ground with the chest plate opened. Stark was digging at something with a screwdriver.

He looked up. “Um... what was your name again? I know you have a bird name, we've sort of already got one of those though, and he won't like it if he thinks he's being replaced, but you've got a real name, right?”

“Sam Wilson.”

Tony nodded. “Tony Stark,” he said, grinning with a fantastic smile. “More coffee?”

He held his cup out, and Sam rolled his eyes, but took it.

“You're totally going to owe me you know,” he muttered, and Tony only hummed in response.

 

Less than an hour, but no fewer than three pots of coffee later, Tony's suit was repaired, and he took off from what was left of Sam's backyard.

Because apparently when Tony said he landed in the backyard, it was more of a crash. Tony argued about walking away, and the British voice interjected.

Still, it was something to behold.

Sam wondered if he could do something like that to his wings.

 

He'd almost forgotten about the incident, the snow covering up the mess that his backyard became, when in the spring a team of landscapers showed up at his house and began fixing everything without so much as a word to him.

An envelope was also delivered that day, containing a blueprint of repulsor powered wings and a coupon for coffee with Tony Stark.

 

Sam smirked, and tucked it away. Apparently Stark had been listening.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I know we've never met before, but Steve and Natasha vouched for you and I was just wondering if maybe you had a pair of pants I could borrow.”

Sam blinked. The man standing in front of him was none other than Bruce Banner, the alter ego of the Hulk, and a brilliant scientist.

He was also nude except for a well placed newspaper.

“Of course man. Come on in.”

 

Bruce shuffled into his entry way and stood awkwardly.

“Nice place,” he offered.

Sam smiled at him. “Thanks. Why don't you come with me, and I can show you to the bathroom while I dig something out for you.”

“Sure,” Bruce said, sounding relieved.

 

Sam was rifling through his shorts when a thought hit him. “Hey Bruce?” he called.

A head stuck out around the frame of the bathroom door. “Yeah?”

“Are you hungry? I can make some mean pancakes. Captain America approved.”

Bruce grinned slightly. “Yeah. I'd like that.”

 

That plan seriously backfired on him though, because when the rest of Bruce's team showed up within an hour, they all wanted pancakes.

“I am not your personal chef,” he told them, but the severity of the statement was slightly lessened by the spatula he was brandishing and the apron he'd donned.

 

He glared especially fiercely at Natasha and Steve, since it was their fault that he had gotten into this whole mess. He opened his home to two superheroes, and suddenly he had a revolving door. Nope. No more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Looking back, he probably shouldn't have said that out loud. Honestly, knowing then what he did now, he would never have opened his mouth.

Because apparently Tony Stark took every declaration like that as a personal challenge.

 

He was deemed an Avenger and moved in within the week.

But honestly, he couldn't find it in his heart to complain. Too much.

 

 


End file.
